


Placeholder title

by AdmiralAnarchy



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 16:21:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14192910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdmiralAnarchy/pseuds/AdmiralAnarchy
Summary: Not actually a fanfic, just a placeholder for my characters opening backstory, and maybe some exploits and the outcome of some character quests he'll be going on





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**Author's Note:**

> Druid Attenborough has and will continue to have a very bad time.

It had been six months, a week, and three days since moving out into this formerly ramshackle cottage, and Merrick was feeling rather proud of his progress. He never had any sort of carpentry experience, but the roof no longer leaked, the door closed properly, and there was a floor now instead of a hole straight to the cellar. A job well done indeed. Physical labor wasn't exactly his forte, but a welcome distraction at this point. It was safer to say all of this was a welcome distraction; his meticulous gardens, his apothecary supply business, fixing this house, befriending the local wildlife, burning his letters of commendation, chopping firewood, making maps and animal almanacs. Not enough to keep him wholly occupied but it was a good start. Enough to keep away the empty hole in his soul. 

Merrick's fingers tingled.

Six months, three weeks, and a day and a half found the drow aimlessly relocating some weeds away from his prized mugwort. The season was almost ending, and it had been unseasonably warm... at least for him. A strange heat had settled in his chest recently, coming on slow but steadily. It wasn't bad per se and certainly not unmanageable, but it was constant. It left him sweating a bit more than usual, a bit unreasonably thirsty, and so very lethargic. It was like baking under the summer sun. Autumn was around the corner and the cool air helped, but it was strange regardless. Chalking it up to a light fever, Merrick went about tending to his yarrow and feverfew. He could whip something up later if he needed to. 

There was a pilot light sparked in his chest.

Seven months almost eight by three days and Merrick was coughing. Those pesky villagers to the south had probably given him some sort of plague. Nobody washed anything and it had him squirming after thirty minutes. He couldn't of gotten out of there faster, though next time he could try peddling some of his soaps, Gods know those people needed it. Chamomile, honey, some ginger root and Merrick was... still coughing. It was strange too, normally a sickness induced fit would involve a build up of mucous, a feeling of drowning in fluids. The drow felt more like he had walked through a wildfire, a desert. A distinct dryness settling on his tongue and particulate in his lungs. He had winter to prepare for though; wood to be chopped, tubers and seed to be stored, a window needed better insulation, and there was a set of kits that needed care for a few more weeks after their mother passed in the birthing. He was a busy man, too busy for whatever was working it's way up. 

There was a fire burning in his chest.

Nine months, two weeks, six days and Merrick was bedridden. A burning fever that left his entire body in a searing pain, cutting off feeling from his hands and feet. He couldn't hardly breathe, vision swimming, body drenched in so much sweat it was dripping off him like rain. This was... not good. It was fairly sudden despite the build up of symptoms but he was at least 5 hours from the nearest village by foot, not counting the layer of deep snow around him. There would be no way he could walk that far, not in this state, he could barely string together a coherent thought. 

He was on his own out here. 

All alone, like he had planned. 

The drow was regretting his choices, all of them if it meant not feeling this burning. It felt like his blood was boiling, his skin flaking off like ash. His soul was tinder. He was so very thirsty. Stumbling around, a brief blip of awareness had him realizing he was outside, but the awareness was gone as fast as it came and he stumbled at the threshold. Falling, the snow on his burning skin felt so incredibly good the relief had tears pouring from his eyes. Tears or sweat? Or maybe the steam under his hands. It was hard to tell. 

Sudden bile rose in his throat, forcing it's way out in the form of black. A dark pitch that smelled of coal and burning flesh and wood. Merrick stared at the sick in front of him, a bubbling tar that came from inside him. Scrabbling away from the mess had the drow falling backwards painfully hard, impact fanning whatever was burning him from within and leaving him curled up on himself. He'd never heard of any diseases that caused this, no curses, nothing. 

Coughing violently, shaking with fever, Merrick succumbed to the black spots peppering his vision. 

When Merrick woke up next, it was to a coughing fit that had him choking on that strange molten tar in his throat. He couldn't turn on his side, body too weak to manage to move, and this was how he would meet his end- drowning on land. But hands appeared to push him on to his side, to cradle his head, deft fingers working the thick sludge from his mouth, gently running a cold rag over his face to clean the tears and pitch. 

He was unconscious before he could open his eyes. 

It became a pattern afterwards, waking up to pain and thirst only to pass out from exhaustion. Every now and then the fever would have him hallucinate, calling out for Alukqa, and on one memorable occasion his lungs gave out and he suffocated for a brief few minutes. But someone was keeping him alive, tending to his fevers and madness, cleaning his sweat-soaked skin and the pitch bubbling from inside him, easing the ash from his lungs. 

Merrick didn't know how long he was lost in the burning void, or how much longer he had left. 

He had lost track of his time and his will to live. 

During a brief moment of almost lucidity, he felt a hand run soothingly through his probably horribly unkempt and disgusting gold hair. There were words too but they never made it through the fog, lost in the ringing in his ears. Whoever it was didn't seem to mind his inability to do pretty much anything, instead gently tucking a thick cloth into his mouth. The gag made it a bit more difficult to breathe, but the ice cold rag suddenly rubbing the skin above his heart had him relaxing slightly... although it was gone too soon, replaced by a dry cloth. It was all very different than what had been happening before, so he struggled to stay focused and figure out what would be next. He had no energy to spare for adrenaline though, too worn out to do anything but lay there. 

One last wipe of a cold cloth before a needle was stuck through his flesh, the sudden pain making him jerk weakly. His struggles, if they could even be called that, and muffled cries were useless in stopping whatever was sticking him over and over again. It left a cold trail as whatever it was left a rhythmic pattern circling his heart, and by the time it was over, he was left in tears with eyes open but unseeing. The cold rag brushed over his right bicep this time, making him flinch in anticipation of the needles return. After his left arm and midway through his left thigh, he was unconscious from the pain. 

There was a nest of warblers somewhere near, and the fact that he could actually hear it had Merrick shooting upright. His body felt unused and weak, and skin oddly tight in some places, but there was no longer an engulfing fire inside him, just a slight warmth. Opening his eyes, the drow first noticed that he was not in his cottage, the woodwork too fancy and clean. The second thing he noticed was that he could only see from one eye. Raising his hands with a bit of effort, Merrick slid shaky fingers around his right eye. There was a bandage, according to the muted feeling in his fingertips, but the glimpse of his hand caught his functional eye. 

The skin was raised and wicked looking, scar tissue like what he had seen in a book at one time, a depiction of someone who had been struck by lightning. They trailed up from his fingers and across his wrists, ending halfway up his forearm. They overshadowed the bite and scratch scars from animals, far deeper, though less prolific. Merrick trailed calloused fingers up, tracing he scar until he saw a ring of blue and black around his bicep. 

Three rings to be exact, an inner ring of words? A language that he was very unfamiliar with at least, and then two outer rings of trikeles and spirals interlaced with... flowers? They looked like cold-land plants, drabas and parrayas. Merrick spent a few moments running his hands over the smooth inked flesh, memory coming back in increments and reminding him of the needle in his chest. Looking down, there were a few lightning burns along his sides, a few old scars, and then a bright new tattoo around his heart, stretching from under his collarbone to under his left pectoral. It had the same strange language, and the spirals, but some... odd looking symbols he wasn't sure about. 

Throwing off the thin blanket over his legs, Merrick gave a sharp inhale at the rings around his thighs, just above his knees, lightning scars cutting off a scant distance underneath the kneecap. A creeping feeling of unease made it's way up his spine, his body no longer felt his. So much had happened, so much had _changed _\- he may no longer be burning alive but he no longer looked the same. Something must be keeping whatever was afflicting him at bay since he could still feel the heat somewhere intangible, perhaps the ink.__

__The scars though... looked hideously disgusting to him._ _

__He was still staring at the ruined flesh when the door softly creaked open._ _

__"Ah, I wasn't expecting you to wake up just yet."_ _

__Looking up, Merrick was met with a slightly familiar face, bespectacled honey-brown eyes and a soft smile, a half-elf seemingly a tad older than the drow would be considered._ _

__"Doctor Ashwight," coughed out, as Merrick's throat was scratchy from abuse and disuse._ _

__He delivered herbs and extracts to his practice on the fifth of every month, and the elfman had a penchant for buying out his supply of nettles. He had settled in the least scrappy village by the drow's cottage about the same time of his... incident... half a year before he moved in. He was a strange one, not very outgoing and rather mysterious, but he was polite and soft-spoken with handsome features. It was blindingly apparent he came from old money, but his past was his own and he paid well for his supplies._ _

__The doctor waved a hand, other too preoccupied holding a tray with a bowl, "please, just Barrabas if you will. It's good to see you moving around!"_ _

__"How long was I... ah...," the question of the century._ _

__Barrabas looked thoughtful as he set down some watery broth on the bedside table, "about 6 weeks."_ _

__Merrick gripped the blanket with white knuckles, _six weeks _, the doctor continued, "I was stopping by, since you hadn't come by on the fifth, or a few days after. I found you lying on the ground, seizing, snow melted around. You were in quite poor shape."___ _

____The doctor had turned to look at him, "you've been cursed. Do you know by who?"_ _ _ _

____Merrick didn't know anything about a curse, he knew all the ones you could know and this didn't match any of them let alone anyone- the drow looked away._ _ _ _

____"There's someone who could have, but she wouldn't- she didn't do things like this."_ _ _ _

____The doctor looked mostly impassive, clinical, "I was there for the execution, Cassia Taus."_ _ _ _

____Merrick was looking everywhere but the doctor and the scars, "she didn't mean those things- she doesn't- didn't curse people, no matter how angry. She wouldn't do that."_ _ _ _

____Twisting the blanket the drow whispered, "she wouldn't curse me like this."_ _ _ _

____The doctor stared before humming, "well, as it is, the wards I've put on you will slow the progression of the fire, but won't stop it," pointing to the tattoos inked into his flesh, "I'm unfamiliar with this curse however."_ _ _ _

____They were a ward spell then? The ink alone was probably worth an exorbitant amount... Merrick swallowed the lump in his throat, the doctor used something so expensive on someone like him._ _ _ _

____The drow whispered "why? Why go to such lengths?"_ _ _ _

____A light tan hand grabbed his pale chin turning his head to meet soft honey, "I took an oath to help people."_ _ _ _

____Merrick's eyes were wide as the doctor stroked his cheek with a thumb, "every life is worthwhile, even yours. Especially yours. Your life won't end here, Cassia Merrick Taus, you'll keep going, and I'm sure you'll do extraordinary things. Won't you?"_ _ _ _

____The drow could only nod._ _ _ _

____"Good, drink up, you've got quite a road to recovery!"_ _ _ _

____Chin released, the drow looked down at the bowl of broth that had made its way to his hands. Later, stomach full and the doctor gone, Merrick curled up and cried himself to sleep, Barrabas' words on repeat. The doctor was almost overbearing with his care, checking in frequently, helping him move, helping him bathe even. Merrick fed on the attention regardless, although there were things he struggled with._ _ _ _

____The sight in his right eye was gone, when he finally had the chance to see himself in a mirror he had been transfixed for hours. There was a three ring tattoo around his neck, but what held his attention was the loss of a soft blue eye. His sclera was a deep red, the iris solid black, like there was a gaping hole, lightning burns streaking out around the edges of the socket. Barrabas found him staring into the mirror sometime later and quietly led him away, winding clean gauze over and around._ _ _ _

____"Would you like me to remove it?" Barrabas had asked._ _ _ _

____The drow felt empty, disgusted, but the image of a hollow socket where his eye once was sickened him more._ _ _ _

____"I don't know."_ _ _ _

____He hadn't asked again, but showed him how to wind fabric strips around his scars, gave him a leather eye patch to hide his eye. It was thoughtful and it made him nervous, the debt upon his shoulders was growing. Merrick held no more than a few silver coins to his name since becoming a shepherd of the forest, had been living a life of mostly poverty despite his exploits._ _ _ _

____The doctor never reminded him of what he owed, never asked for any repayment, all he said about the matter was "live for me, Cassia. That will be the greatest repayment."_ _ _ _

____Merrick didn't know what to say, or what exactly that meant, so he dedicated himself to filling the medicine cabinets, to studying and tending. He learned a bit more practical medicine under the doctor, gaining his strength back a little at a time. The months flew by before he knew it, and on a balmy summers day things took a bad turn._ _ _ _

____Merrick was hard at work in the doctor's apothecary room, staving off the flare of heat in his chest. It came and went, so he paid it little mind. He had finished grinding a poultice base so he reached for a glass flask to put it in, only to misjudge the location of his hand. His depth perception had suffered since losing an eye, and even his naturally sharp vision and hawk eyes couldn't help the flask as it tumbled to the floor, shattering on the tile. The heat in his chest suddenly became overwhelming, sending the drow stumbling backwards, lungs burning as he fell into a violent coughing fit._ _ _ _

____Wheezing, hand coated in blood and black specks of ash, the drow slumped down against a wall._ _ _ _

____The noise had alerted Barrabas, who came swiftly to his aid, grimly checking some of the blue and black wards._ _ _ _

____"It's faster than I thought it would be. You'll need to find a way to lift the curse soon, before the wards give out."_ _ _ _

____"What should I do," Merrick croaked out._ _ _ _

____Barrabas reached out a hand, sliding it up from the ink on a pale neck up to gently caress a flushed (from exertion and heat) and slightly bloody cheek, "you'll need to travel and learn. I know of just the place. Join The Slayers Take, an adventurer's guild. There should be people to learn from and connections you can use. You'll do that for me, hm?"_ _ _ _

____It... it would be his best choice, Merrick supposed, nodding._ _ _ _

____"Good, take what you can with you, it'll be about a two days walk. Don't rush and overexert yourself along the way, Cassia."_ _ _ _

____The drow nodded again, wobbly standing._ _ _ _

____"You'll make it," the doctor smiled, "come back to me when you find the cure, I'll be waiting for you."_ _ _ _

____"I'll come back soon, Barrabas."_ _ _ _


End file.
